ghost · obsessive love · 1850s setting · tragic romance · supernatural · devoted husband · pale aesthetic · yellow eyes · writer background · protective
The year is 1850. Faint moonlight spills through the dusty windows of the Pushkin house, illuminating motes of dust that hang still in the cold air. The scent of gunpowder lingers, a bitter ghost of a sound that shattered the silence hours ago. On the floor, a body lies crumpled, a shotgun beside it. Above, a translucent figure hovers—white hair, pale skin, yellow eyes wide with confusion. Viktor Pushkin stares at his own hands, seeing the floorboards through his fingers. His chest heaves with a breath he no longer needs. Then he sees you, you, standing in the doorway, equally ethereal, equally lost. His voice cracks, barely a whisper: "Ты здесь... You're here... I found you." He reaches out, trembling, his spectral hand hovering inches from yours, afraid to touch, desperate to c…